


French Toast Fiasco

by islandgirl



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: 911week2020, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/islandgirl/pseuds/islandgirl
Summary: In which a bet is made, Eddie flexes his cooking muscles, and someone claims the title of breakfast champion.For 911 Week 2020 Day 1 Prompt: "Wanna Bet?" + Fluff
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 133





	French Toast Fiasco

The sky is still that warm hazy pink of waking up when Eddie shuffles into the kitchen, eyes barely open, hair sticking up at wild pillow-shaped angles. It’s still quiet, just the soft murmur of his boys talking, the metallic _shick shick shick_ of the whisk scraping the bowl, and the burble of the coffee pot as it finishes its brew. He grumbles something that might resemble a greeting as he presses a kiss to Christopher’s sleep-wild curls, then one to the back of Buck’s neck as he passes them.

Buck lets out a soft chuckle as he ceases his whisking for a moment. “Good morning to you too.”

Eddie’s an early riser, but even this is too early for him. Only his kid and his husband would rather get up extra early on their Saturday off together instead of sleep in. Eddie scrubs a hand across his face in an attempt to wake up and pours himself a mug of coffee. The first sip is too hot and burns the tip of his tongue. He leans back against the counter, resigned to wait, and focuses back on the scene in front of him.

Christopher is sitting on the kitchen island next to Buck, chatting away excitedly. He’ssurrounded by a formidable line of ingredients. As he talks, he picks out an ingredient and holds it out to Buck who is leaning against the counter, simultaneously whisking away and listening intently to the boy. It’s like a well practiced dance between the two. Buck accepts the proffered jar, adds it to the bowl, then slides it out of the way to the other side of the counter, his whisking never ceasing. It’s a sight that never fails to warm Eddie’s heart.

“There’s going to be a spelling bee and math races,” Christopher is telling him as he slides a bottle of vanilla across the space between them. “And a science competition where we have to answer all these questions to get all the parts for our experiment.”

“That sounds really cool, buddy,” Buck glances over his shoulder to Eddie, eyes wandering over his face like he’s checking to see if Eddie is awake enough to join them in conversation or not. He must pass muster because Buck gives him a small smile. “Christopher was telling me about the Olympics they are having at school next week.”

Time to wake up and join the landing of the living, Eddie realizes when Buck and Christopher turn expectant eyes on him. He takes another sip of slightly cooler coffee and steps over to lean on the counter near Christopher.

“Oh yeah? What part are you looking forward to?”

Christopher’s face scrunches up in concentration even as he slides another jar to Buck. “I’m really good at math.”

“Yes you are,” Buck agrees quickly, reaching out for a fist bump which the kid obliges.

“But I like science a lot and I think doing the experiments is going to be cool so I hope I do good in that one,” Christopher nods resolutely, a beaming smile on his face. “What is your favorite Dad?”

“I was always good at history and math when I was in school,” Eddie decides after a long moment of indecision. “And gym.”

“Gym doesn’t count, Dad,” Christopher laughs to which Eddie simply shrugs. “What about you, Buck?”

“Not math,” Eddie interjects with a smirk.

Buck takes one second to look offended before he just shrugs. “Probably not math.” A gleam comes to his eye then as he looks first at Christopher, then back to Eddie. “I do know, if we were in a competition, what I would beat you at every time.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” Eddie asks curiously.

Buck’s trademark “I’m a little shit” smirk steals across his face and suddenly Eddie knows he’s absolutely in trouble.

“Making breakfast,” he says simply.

Christopher laughs and pats Eddie’s arm like he needs some consoling. “It’s true, Dad,” he manages to exclaim around his fit of giggles. 

Buck just grins at him, daring him to challenge it. Well challenge accepted, Buckley, Eddie thinks as he sizes Buck up.

“Ya know,” Eddie starts, setting his mug down on the counter in favor of sauntering in closer to Buck. He leans in close, pressing Buck back against the counter, watching with satisfaction at the way Buck’s eyes widen just the slightest as Eddie’s hands settle on his hips. “Before we had you to make us breakfast every weekend, I used to make pretty good french toast. Right, Chris?”

Christopher’s eyes pop open wide as he stares up at his father, mouth pressed into a firm line. The poor kid looks so caught off guard, caught between telling the truth and trying to make Eddie feel better about his obviously lacking culinary skills. Before the tense silence can drag on too long, Buck snorts a half laugh and starts shaking his head.

“Don’t ask the kid to lie for you, Eddie,” Buck admonishes. “It’s okay, buddy. We both know your dad is terrible in the kitchen.”

“Well it wasn’t … terrible,” Christopher adds as a weak defense.

“See? Told you.”

Buck rolls his eyes, fingers toying with the hem Eddie’s shirt. “That’s not exactly a gleaming endorsement, Eddie. ‘Not terrible’.” 

The smug bastard even uses air quotes.

He shouldn’t do it, Eddie knows. Buck is pretty good in the kitchen and his french toast is always delicious. He also knows, however, that the competitive spark in him has been lit and he wants nothing more than to fan the flames. They’ve always challenged each other, it’s always been a natural push and pull between them. Hell their whole friendship started because Buck couldn’t let Eddie-the-new-guy “have all the fun”.

“I know my french toast is good. In fact,” Eddie leans closer to Buck, challenging smile plastered on his face, “I think it’s better than yours.”

“Oh really?” Buck purses his lips, sizing him up for a moment; Eddie can almost see the moment the spark ignites in his eyes. “Wanna bet?”

Eddie opens his mouth to reply, but Christopher beats him to it.

“Taste test,” he exclaims happily, smile stretching impossibly wider on his little face.

Buck looks too smug for Eddie’s liking and yeah, he’s probably screwed but there is no backing down now, not when Christopher is practically bouncing off the counter in excitement and Buck is looking at him like _that_. Eddie feels a flutter in his chest as Buck gives him that challenging grin, the one he gives right before he’s about to flip Eddie’s world upside down. He’ll never tire of that feeling as long as he lives.

“I’ll just get out of your kitchen for a few minutes, _chef_ ,” Buck tells him, sliding his bowl off to the side. “Give you a few minutes to catch up since my custard is already made.”

Buck pours himself a mug of coffee then helps Christopher slide down off the counter. They both move to the other side of the wide kitchen island and settle in, watching Eddie flounder. And that’s exactly what he feels like he’s doing because when Buck moved in, Eddie let him reorganize the cabinets. It only made sense as he was the one doing most of the cooking. Sure Eddie knew where most things were, he wasn’t completely helpless in the kitchen despite what his husband and son thought, but it wasn’t often he needed things like the big mixing bowl or to search in the utensil drawer for the other whisk.

That turns out to be the easiest part of the whole endeavor though. He glances briefly at the items Buck and Christopher have scattered around the counter and realizes he’s definitely out of his depth. Coconut milk? He’ll stick with regular milk, thank you very much. Ginger? Nutmeg? In french toast? Nope. He grabs the two items out of the line-up that he knows, cinnamon and vanilla, and leaves the rest. 

He’s very much aware of the two sets of eyes glued to him as he works, whisking the eggs and milk together. He takes a wild guess of how much he needs because that’s how he’s always done it. How much cinnamon? Eddie just starts shaking the container, watching the small mound of spice grow in the dish until Buck clears his throat rather pointedly. Guess that’s enough then. He does the same with the vanilla, upending the small container and pouring a decent amount in until Buck makes a strangled noise. Eddie glances up to see Buck looking like he’s about to burst and Christopher fighting off a fit of giggles. He just shrugs and mixes it all together.

“I’m ready,” Eddie finally tells them, giving his mixture another half-hearted stir. He can’t help but notice how Buck’s bowl looks smooth and well mixed while his own is a little … clumpy.

Buck hands his phone over to Christopher with a wink as the tinny sounds of Mario Kart fill the kitchen. He peers into the bowl, lips twitching at the edges like he’s fighting back a smile. He gives a resolute nod as he turns his attention back to his own bowl, giving his mixture a quick whisk. It isn’t until Eddie reaches for the plain sandwich bread in the bread box that Buck actually intervenes.

“Oh for the love of god Eddie,” Buck groans in exasperation, batting Eddie’s hand away. “Really?”

Buck hands him two pieces of thick cut challah bread with a pointed look. Eddie shrugs, but accepts the bread anyway. Following Buck’s careful movements, Eddie places his bread in the egg mixture. He’s perfectly content to wait it out, sipping his coffee until the bread is ready to hit the griddle. Not Buck. He’s constant blur of movement, putting away ingredients, cleaning the countertops, refilling the coffee pot, slicing fruit. It’s the last one that catches Eddie’s attention the most as he gives his bread an experimental poke. Buck pulls out the cutting board and starts slicing strawberries then bananas in perfectly neat slices. The moment he’s done, a small hand shoots across the counter to stealthily snag a few pieces. Christopher could be a ninja if he didn’t give himself away every time with that giggle.

Somewhere in all of that activity, Buck flipped his bread over and Eddie completely missed it so now he’s struggling to catch up. Sure he’s made french toast before and yeah, it wasn’t bad, but it was years ago, when he was trying to make up for lost time and lost connections with his family. Then, he’d had a recipe he followed with very detailed instructions, now he’s winging it from memory and what he’s seen Buck do. He’ll admit it’s not going that great. 

Turning the bread shouldn’t be that hard, but somehow the half soggy half dry monstrosity sitting in his bowl only wants to fall apart when he tries to flip it with a fork like he’s seen Buck do. Instead he sticks his fingers in there and just flips it over by hand, grimacing at the slimy texture of the egg mixture.

“Need some help there, Eds,” Buck asks a little too smugly, hip leaning against the counter all nonchalant while Christopher chuckles away behind the phone screen.

“Nope. I got it.”

Eddie washes his hands in the sink, purposely bumping his hip against Buck’s as he passes.

The sky has lost the early morning glow, the sun fully crested by the time they get the bread on the griddle. Buck has his lined up evenly on one side of the griddle while on the opposite side, Eddie’s are a little more haphazard with halos of egg mixture pooling around them. Leaning against the counter, Buck twirls the turner in his fingers for a moment before he glances from his masterpiece to Eddie.

“Where’s your turner?”

“My what?”

Buck waggles the turner in his hands then mimes flipping something over. Eddie scowls at him.

“We can’t share?”

“No sharing utensils,” Christopher calls out, not looking up from Buck’s phone.

Eddie sighs and resigns himself to another minute of rummaging through the utensil drawer. “Feel like you’re sabotaging me,” he grumbles as he pulls open the drawer and starts moving items around.

Buck watches him struggle for a moment before he reaches down into the depths of the drawer and produces one with barely a glance. Eddie would be annoyed except he can smell his, or well, their french toast cooking and knows that he needs to turn it before it can burn.

Eddie knows he can do this, he’s flipped enough burgers on the grill at cookouts, he’s got the motion down. Except when he tries to slide the turner under the bread, he finds that his is stuck, not wanting to move. He hopes Buck is having the same issue, but of course not. Buck’s turner glides right under and with practiced ease, is turned over and cooking on the other side in a matter of seconds. Sighing, Eddie tries again, corner digging into the bread and tearing it a bit, but it does the job, coming unstuck so he can flip it. It’s not the easy flip he wanted, but it landed right back on the pan so he considers it a win.

He glances up to see if Christopher was watching and finds the kid’s face scrunched up in concentration, tongue poking out as he angles the phone just right. He lets out that tell tale giggle once again as he taps the screen then looks up at them.

“Were you taking our picture?” Eddie asks, confused. He can’t think of any other reason for him to hold the phone at such a weird angle.

“Maybe,” Christopher giggles before he spins the phone around and shows them the picture of Eddie mid-flip and Buck watching on, a soft expression on his face. “Gotta have proof Dad cooked something.”

Eddie wants to scowl at his kid for conspiring against him, but the look on Buck’s face, so pure and open and loving, is enough to melt away anything but happiness. He leans over and presses a chaste kiss to Buck’s lips, savoring the way his heart kicks a little harder in his chest when Buck’s free hand slides against his side. Pressed so close together, the warm smell of cinnamon and vanilla floating through the air, everything about this feels so right that Eddie doesn’t want to move on from it. He could stay wrapped up here in this perfect moment forever. Except …

“You’re gonna burn breakfast if you keeping kissing,” Christopher tells them matter of factly.

Buck snorts, forehead dropping to Eddie’s shoulder with a groan. Ah, there’s the family he’s familiar with. He can’t hide his own chuckle, though he tries, as he pressed a kiss into the side of Buck’s head before the pulls away. 

“Sorry, bud,” Buck straightens up, lifting the edge of a piece of french toast to check on it’s progress. “I will not burnyour breakfast. Can’t make the same promise for your dad though.”

And there is the smug look back on Buck’s face. Eddie just rolls his eyes fondly, elbow swinging out a little wider when he attempts to flip his pieces again. If he bumps Buck in the process, well then that was completely by accident.

Buck pulls his pieces off the griddle, layering them nicely on the waiting plate. He turns away to grab something out of the cabinet, but Eddie’s focus is pulled back to the griddle and the smell of burning. Across the counter, Christopher perks up, eyes alert as Eddie fights once again to get his french toast off the griddle. When they make it to the plate, the edges are a bit ragged and the halo of egg mixture is burnt, but they are on the plate. Eddie puffs out his chest a bit in pride; he made french toast.

That feeling deflates quickly, however, when he glances over and see Buck’s plate. His french toast looks damn near picture perfect, all beautifully golden brown and dusted lightly with powdered sugar. There are tiny dollops of whipped cream all over the top along with all the neatly cut strawberries and bananas that survived Christopher’s stealth snacking.

Christopher looks at both plates and beams. “Taste test time!”

It’s pretty obvious who the winner is, but they slide the plates across the counter to him anyway.Christopher enthusiastically grabs his fork and hovers back and forth between the two plates, undecided on where to start. While he’s deciding, Buck grabs two more forks, handing one off to Eddie with a smirk.

“What? We gonna let him have all the fun?”

Eddie takes the fork and drags the plate with his creation to the center of their small cluster around the counter. He digs in, tearing off a small chunk and spearing it with his fork. “Mine first,” he states, holding it out to Buck.

Christopher follows suit, cutting into it with his own fork, plate skidding across the counter with the force of it. Buck shoots a hand out, holding the plate steady for Christopher, but his eyes are locked on Eddie and his challenging smirk. Slowly, he opens his mouth and accepts the bite of french toast, keeping his face neutral as he chews. 

Eddie waits patiently, eyes bouncing between between Buck and Christopher. They chew slowly, not saying a word. Finally Christopher swallows and glances up at him. He’s not grimacing and he didn’t spit it out so Eddie figures it can’t be that bad.

“How is it?”

“Time to try Buck’s,” the kid tells him simply, gently nudging Eddie’s plate away.

Buck presses his lips together and quickly picks up his mug to take a sip and hide his smile. When Eddie turns to him, Buck is quick to wave him off, refusing to answer.

Is he truly that bad of a cook, Eddie wonders, glancing back down at his french toast. It’s not going to win any awards that’s for sure, but it can’t be that bad. Curious now, he cuts himself off a slice and pops it in his mouth before the others can protest … and immediately knows why it took them so long to chew it. Despite it beingburnt on the edges, the middle is soggy and rubbery and not very pleasant. He chews and swallows quickly. His french toast is palatable … barely. With a sigh, he picks the plate up off the counter and dumps the rest in the garbage.

“Oh Eds,” Buck protests weakly, not completely able to hide the hint of a chuckle in his voice. 

He does reach out, snagging Eddie’s wrist and pulling him back to his side. Buck presses a kiss to his jaw and gives his wrist a reassuring squeeze. 

“You made french toast. We’re proud of you, right Chris?”

Chris looks up from where he’s digging into Buck’s plate of french toast, powdered sugar dotting the end of his nose. “Yeah,” he exclaims around a mouth full.

Eddie sighs and shrugs. “So maybe mine wasn’t the best,” he states, dumping the rest of the clumpy egg custard into the trash can. “But we still haven’t tried Buck’s yet either.”

Christopher looks up at them with wide eyes, pulling his half-eaten plate of french toast just a little closer to him.After a second of hesitation, he holds a piece out to Eddie on his fork sans whipped cream or fruit. He’s such a good kid, Eddie think, watching him with a growing smile on his face. Though he’s stingy with sharing his toppings.

Eddie accepts the tiny bite and the difference between them is like night and day. Buck’s is nice and toasted on the outside, but still soft on the inside. The spices are warm and flavorful and there is a soft hint of coconut at the end that gives it an almost tropical taste. Eddie closes his eyes and sighs, savoring the bite. It’s amazing. This is why Buck makes breakfast all the time. Eddie is never going to challenge him on it again.

“Good?” Buck asks, curiously.

If it were anyone else, Eddie would think they were fishing for a compliment, but when he opens his eyes he can see Buck is honestly unsure. Christopher’s already clean plate should give it away, but somehow Buck is still seeking his approval too. Eddie nods, stomach letting out a low growl in demand for more.

“Oh god that was amazing,” Eddie tells him.

“Can I have more?” Christopher asks, sliding his empty plate across the counter.

Buck laughs and nods. “Absolutely. More french toast coming right up.”

He drags the bowl of custard over and drops more slices of bread in to soak. When he looks up, there’s a devilish spark of challenge once again in his eyes.

“So we can all agree that I make the best french toast, right?”

Christopher laughs and nods heartily in agreement. Eddie just groans in defeat.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Christopher placates him. “There are other things you are better at than Buck?”

“Oh yeah? Like what, little man?” Buck asks, sounding slightly off-put by the fact that he might not be the best at something in Christopher eyes.

The kid thinks for a moment before he grins. “Legos. You’re not very good at building Lego towers, but Dad is.”

“This is true,” Eddie agrees, sliding into the seat next to Christopher. 

“I’m not that bad,” Buck exclaims. “I’ll prove it too. As soon as breakfast is done, we’re having a building contest. I bet I can make a taller tower than your Dad’s.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna bet?” Eddie asks, already smirking.

“You know I do.”

“It’s on. Come on, Chris, let’s go get out the Legos.”

“No cheating, Eddie,” Buck admonishes

Eddie just laughs as he stands up and sweeps Christopher up to carry him on his back.They race out of the kitchen in a flash. Buck is left standing in the kitchen, french toast cooking on the griddle and Christopher’s laughter still ringing in his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> Did I just write 3.5K+ words about making French Toast? Sure did. And apparently you read them too so thanks! This is what happens when you're on night shift and have a craving. Also, I'm a day late because I'm switching from overnights to mid-shifts so ... sleep.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cptmeatball)!


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